Friday, November 18, 2016

I did get a smile this morning on the Kanye news front. Ah, those Kardashians! They are to scandal like Ray Kroc was to the hamburger. Kanye, admittedly, spoils it somewhat by having a talent. But as a crooner, he was never going to get flashed on US, People Inclose and numerous others. I've noticed, however, that the K's have peaked - I think probably it was Kim's butt pic, which made her the toast of the Miami-Basel art fair. However, by number of covers or even inset cover stories, I've noticed a really sharp fall in Kardashian stories. Kanye's Trump love might revive the spark for a moment. Maybe it is time for Kim to argue with him, in some swank restaurant, and then the separation, and then the divorce. Of course, they are being overshadowed by the Angelina Brad divorce, and we have to remember that their string is old. The shows canceled, Bruce's sex change is last year, and we have put in power a reality tv guy whose staff and cabinet are looking like an old Jerry Springer special (Neo Nazi bikers and their cheating wives!), I've grown fond of Kim - the other Ks are, lets be frank, pretty minor. On their own, the weight, the divorces, the fashion lines would all flop. Britney Spears, another crooner, was really complexed by the scandals she caused. They dug into her life and she was hurt. The remarkable thing about the Kardashians is that you can dig into their life as much as you like, but you'll find it is pretty numb - in fact, tv and life have merged here.So, anyway, Kanye has done his bit. It is a reminder that the American carnival is still going strong. It has to be good for our Balance of Trade!

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

The press still doesn't have a clue about our Grand Wizard. Their normalization of Trump is par for the course: the media bends over backwards to power. The kind of court society that La Bruyere anatomized in Louis 14th's day is alive and well in D.C. But the press's impulse is to attribute everything to being right or left, to having a theory. Trump don't play that game. His game is: humiliation. The subgroup of Romney voters who voted for him have long sought this, above all things - to humiliate their opponents. The deal is, the thirst to humiliate your opponents, after a while, becomes a whole politics of humiliation. It isn't enough to humiliate your opponent, you crave humiliation in itself. Thus, whether Ryan gets through his plan to privatize medicare depends less on whether he can convince the Kluxxers about Trump of its benefits, than upon whether Ryan needs another dose of humiliation or not. Christie, for instance, has staked his political life upon Trump. Alas, Trump decided he needed to be humiliated. Without warning, hey presto, he's fired and Pence is put into place as head of the transition team. I wonder if Trump even bothered to call him. It isn't just the Dems, or the nation, that is now Trump's bitch. Its the GOP. There are stories of Huey Long's love of humiliating his allies, and of LBJ. Supposedly, LBJ liked to humiliate Bill Moyers, then his aide, by commanding hims to give a report to LBJ while LBJ sat on a toilet and unloaded his barbecue. Trump is, of course, dumber than shit. LBJ was smart, and concerned with politics, But if you can imagine Trump as calling in all of us, every American, to surround him while he takes a dump - you'd have an accurate image of how the next four years will go, And, due to the spending Trump seems apt to spring, we will at the same time have a boom, which GOP people will point to to say, the Grand Wizard was right! Bush engineered one via the same means. Suck out the credit of the masses, then bust em - that is the game that is going to be played at a faster tempo, especially since they don't have that many assets left. Meanwhile what happens at least on the GOP side will depend on who needs to be humiliated next. I don't see Ryan faring very well in this environment, unless he can make his act of licking Trump's asshole extremely convincing.

About Me

MANY YEARS LATER as he faced the firing squad, Roger Gathman was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover
ice. Or rather, to discover the profit making potential of selling bags of ice to picnicking Atlantans, the most glorious of the old man's Get Rich schemes, the one that devoured the most energy, the one that seemed so rational for a time, the one that, like all the others - the farm, the housebuilding business, the plastic sign business, chimney cleaning, well drilling, candy machine renting - was drawn by an inexorable black hole that opened up between skill and lack of business sense, imagination and macro-economics, to blow a huge hole in the family savings account. But before discovering the ice machine at 12, Roger had discovered many other things - for instance, he had a distinct memory of learning how to tie his shoes. It was in the big colonial, a house in the Syracuse metro area that had been built to sell and that stubbornly wouldn't - hence, the family had moved into it. He remembered bending over the shoes, he remembered that clumsy feeling in his hands - clumsiness, for the first time, had a habitation, it was made up of this obscure machine, the shoe, and it presaged a lifetime of struggle with machine after machine.